Game Pieces or, Dean's Children
by GoldenRoya
Summary: Set in an alternative timeline where Dean never died, he retired. Now demons are after his children, and he must return to the Hunt to save them.
1. Chapter 1

The following is set after the third season in which Dean did not, in fact, perish at the fangs of the hellhounds, but was rescued by his brother, barely in time to save his life. Shortly thereafter, he rediscovered Tara, a woman with whom he had shared a few short weeks, and the child that she had borne nine months after that. With a son to look after, and still feeling Hell breathing down his neck, he retired from Hunting, leaving Sam to carry on without him.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural. I do not own either Dean or Sam, though if either of them wants to stop by sometime, I have pie. :D

~~~~~*****~~~~~

The demon leaned over the game board and cackled. "It looks like you are trapped, my dear. Your pieces are dead or scattered, and your most powerful pawn will fight tooth and nail to stay trapped. You may as well concede the game to me."

The other player eyed the board thoughtfully, one slim finger tapping her chin. "Yes? Well, I believe it is my move, sir. And we shall see how long my _knight_ stays in your little snare."

She chose a piece and moved it with deliberation. "Let the game continue."

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Dean wasn't sleeping. His eyes were fixed on his three children. Jamie had his back to the crib bars, curled protectively around his brother, one arm flung out to touch his sister. Dean regretted laying the burden of protecting John on his oldest, but he didn't know what else he could have done - James had had the baby and they had both needed to get out of the house. When he'd seen Tara there, on the ceiling, he'd had about three seconds to choose - save his children, or try and save his wife. In the end, he'd chosen the same as his father, putting his kids first. He hoped his hesitation hadn't hurt Mary, but the little six month old had been cleared by the paramedics. He doubted she'd gotten more than a few breaths of smoke, clutched as she was to his chest as he'd staggered out of the flaming house, screaming for Jamie.

Now, here he was. The police and fire department were speculating about an electrical fire, but Dean knew exactly what had happened. "It's happening again, Sammy," he'd said on the voice message he left for his brother. "The demon. It's back. And it's after my kids."

The Ackles' from a couple streets over had offered their hospitality for the night, and Dean had reluctantly accepted. After they'd shown him and his kids to their spare bedroom, the one they kept for visiting grandchildren, and gone to bed, Dean set about turning the place into a fortress, with demon traps painted on the floor, holy symbols set everywhere, salt three inches deep by every window and door, including the closet door, and hastily-blessed glasses of holy water on every flat surface. He'd borrowed a butcher knife from the kitchen and a solid silver knife from the display case of fancy dishes in the parlor; they sat ready to hand beside the chair he slumped in, strategically positioned so he had a good view of the door and window, but so that nothing out there could easily spot him or his children.

Despite the late hour and his own body's ache for rest, Dean couldn't sleep. He had to watch, he had to keep his family safe. His eyelids drooped.

It was quiet. The nursery was still. Tara had screamed, just the once. Just once. If it had been a spider, she'd still be shrieking. Mary....blood....Tara, fire....

"No!" Dean wrenched himself awake, sweating. He touched his little girl, his boys, reassuring himself that they, at least, were okay. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. If he'd let himself get this jumpy in the old days, he'd never have lived to have the new days.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway. Thought didn't have a chance to intervene; Dean was on the intruder in a heartbeat, fists and feet flying.

To his shock, he found the other figure fighting back, slamming him into the floor. Dean hooked him, throwing him, following it up with a well-aimed swing that nevertheless went wild as his opponent ducked under his arm and pinned him flat.

"Dean?"

Dean peered up, and suddenly his brother's face was illuminated in a beam of moonlight.

"Sam? What're you doing here?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Sam's face. "Lookin' for a beer. What else?"

Some of the tension went out of Dean's shoulders as he pulled himself to his feet and embraced his brother. "Sammy. Thank God."

Sam's eyes went wide. "What, no wise cracks?"

Dean shook his head, reluctantly releasing his brother and pulling him into the kids' room, puzzled but grateful that no one had come to investigate the fight. "What took you so long?"

"That the best you can do?" Sam queried, a little worriedly.

His brother turned on him. "My wife's dead and my baby's been infected and you think I oughtta be crackin' jokes?!" He kept his voice low, but it was furious.

Sam bit his lip. "Tara's dead?" He asked the question, but the look in his eyes said that he already knew.

Dean's voice lost none of its rancor. "Yeah. Yeah, Sam, she's dead, same way as Mom, same way as Jess. You know what that means. The god-d- The demon's back. Old yellow-eyes, or something like him." His eyes flashed. "We killed that sonuva b- We killed him, and good. And _now_, on my babies' six month birthday, without so much as an _omen _beforehand, I find my wife dead on the ceiling over my daughter and all of a sudden she's on fire and my _house _- you remember my house, Sam, it's a frigging fortress - is nothin' but smoke and ash and all I can do is remember Dad's journal and think, my god, it's happening again."

Dean glared at Sam for another minute before slowly folding up, sitting wearily on the bed beside the crib. His eyes softened and he laid a gentle hand on Jamie's curls. Sam edged over and sat in the chair, not saying anything.

Silence filled the room and Sam was starting to think Dean must have fallen asleep when his older brother spoke, his voice choked. "I couldn't protect her, Sam. Everything we learned, everything we did, and when it all came down to it, I just stood there and watched her burn. I try and try to escape, but I just keep gettin' sucked back in." He looked up with pain filled eyes. "What am I gonna do, Sam? Is Mary marked now, too? Is the only way I'm gonna save my girl to start fighting again? God, it's the last life I ever wanted for my kids."

Sam winced. "It's not a...a bad life," he offered half-heartedly, but Dean shrugged him off.

"For two adult men, no, maybe not. But it's no life for kids, Sam, you know that. You cut off ties for a year and a half, remember? We had the world's worst effed up childhood; I swore I was never going to subject my kids to more of it than I had to. Heck, I set out to be normal. I'm on a friggin' softball team, for cryin' out loud. What sort of Hunter plays softball, huh? I got a job, Sam, a real, paying job. Even paid taxes last year."

"Really?"

"Well," Dean rolled his eyes, "I signed the form. Tara – she's the one did the math. I'm an upstanding citizen now, Sam, honest and up front, as far as anyone else can tell. I was out, I was done, my kids come first, and now it's pullin' me back in and I can't stop it, Sam."

He buried his head in his hands. Sam turned away, ostensibly inspecting the demon trap on the floor, ignoring muffled sounds behind him. When he turned back, Dean was looking out the window. Black smoke drifted across the sky. "We need better tools, Sammy," he said, softly. "I laid all the mojo I could find on my place; I did the protective spells monthly, there was hoodoo up the wazoo. It should've survived a friggin' demonic apocalypse. Not even a black eyed _mouse _should have been able to slip inside, not without a whole heckuvalotta fireworks. And now it's just a crater."

Sam laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I've got a cabin not far from here; couple hours, maybe. Built it on holy ground; a church used to stand there. If there's any place the kids'll be safe, it's there, at least until we can figure out stronger spells."

Dean swallowed hard, eyes still locked on the smoke. "I dunno, Sammy... Feels weird saying it, but I've put down roots here. Jamie's got friends. Hell, I've got friends, people I see every day. You know how freakin' weird that is? For the first time in my life, there's a lot of people I like who like me back. Took me thirty-three years, but I finally feel like a human being's supposed to feel. There's a woman in the church, Sera, who was pregnant the same time Tara was; Tara and I are her daughter's godparents, and she and her husband are the twins'. How can I pull everything up and go haring off on some adventure, Sam? How can I do that to them?"

"It doesn't have to be forever, Dean," Sam murmured quietly. "Just a few days, until we know what we're up against."

Dean laughed sourly. "Yeah, how much you wanna bet Dad thought the same thing? It was twenty years before he got a line on the demon, Sam."

Sam leaned forward, earnestly. "But we've got major advantages this time, Dean. We're not starting from scratch, we know what we're doing. We've got the tools, the experience. That's way more than Dad had, starting out."

But Dean wasn't paying attention to his brother. Mary was starting to fuss and he picked her up. In his arms, she settled back to sleep, curled warmly against her daddy's chest. He caressed her cheek gently. "They're so little, Sam. So much future, so much potential, right here. They can be anything. It's scary, you know? This little life, so dependent on you, but with the world open in front of them, if we don't close any of the doors. Mary," he looked at Sam, half laughing, "she's a little spitfire, you know that? Always knows what she wants. She was maybe five minutes old when the nurse handed her to me - she grabbed my thumb and looked me in the eyes and told me in no uncertain terms that she may be my baby, but I was _her _daddy." He ran his thumb through her light curls, remembering. "John, now, he's always been the quiet one. A watcher. He looks at things, figures 'em out. I never know what's going on behind those eyes of his. One minute he's looking at something, considering, and then he moves, and something happens. Not like Mary - she tries everything all at once and gets frustrated if it doesn't work. She's gonna be the one always in trouble, but John's gonna be the one getting her out of it."

"Or further into it," Sam smiled, but Dean didn't hear. He touched Jamie's back lightly. "This big guy, now, he's a special one. He's smart. More like his uncle than his dad. I want him to have every opportunity, everything we never had."

"Hey, we had 'em. Stanford, remember?"

Dean finally looked up at Sam. His eyes bore a haunted look. "Yeah. But you're still hunting, Sam. Because of me. Because I didn't have the rocks to go after Dad alone. You could've been happy in another life; you and Jess. But I wanted my little brother with me, and look where it got you. I don't want to force my kids into the same life."

Sam sat beside his brother, touching the little head. "You didn't force me into it, Dean. I chose this life. For some very good reasons, you'll remember. You can't say I'd be happy with Jess - Azazel would've killed her just the same as if you hadn't been there. And Dean, don't forget. You pulled me out. Seems like my whole life you've been saving my ass-"

"Hey," Dean warned.

"What?" Sam was bewildered.

"Watch your language. The kids. Don't want 'em picking up their dad's filthy mouth. Not this early, anyway."

"Oh." Sam smiled.

"What?" Dean glared.

"Nothing." But Sam was still smiling. "Anyway, seems like you're always saving my life. Jess and I never had a future, thanks to the demon. Now you say Mary's been infected by it too?" Dean looked down at the innocent child in his arms and nodded. "So now it's my turn to return the favor. You save me, I save her. I use my opportunities to make sure they have theirs."

Dean considered for long moments before looking back at his brother. "It's only for a few days, right? We figure out how the really strong protection mojo works and my kids get to live a normal life?"

"Yeah," Sam promised. "That's what we do."

"All right then," Dean laid the baby reluctantly back in the crib and nodded decisively.

"I'll head back to the house, see what I can salvage. There's a fire proof safe where I kept some stuff; I wanna see if it's still intact. Maybe a few of the weapons survived. And the twins're going to need to be fed here pretty soon – I'm surprised they aren't hungry yet. I'll find a twenty-four hour convenience store somewhere and pick up some formula. Need anything?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll stay here with the kids. You go do what you've got to do."

"Alright." Dean paused in the doorway. "And Sam? Thanks for coming."

Sam nodded, and Dean disappeared around the corner. Ten seconds later he was back.

"Uh, Sam? Could I borrow your wheels? Mine aren't exactly going anywhere. The car was in the garage when the fire…"

"Sure thing." Sam flipped his older brother his keys. "She's parked out front."

Dean caught them one handed and headed out. There she was. The black '67 Impala that had been his absolute baby for so many years before he'd gotten his real kids. He slid behind the wheel, feeling like he'd never stopped driving her, and turned the key.

He was halfway down the block before he realized that the radio was on, the notes of a fiddle accompanying a sad country crooner sliding out of the speakers. Dean's mouth dropped. "Sammy, what the hell have you done to my poor car? It's alright, baby," he soothed, fiddling with the dial. "I'll get some real music into you real soon."

But he couldn't pick up a good station and he finally just turned the radio off, making the couple block drive in silence.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

He pulled the Impala up to the curb next to the mailbox. The cheerful box was covered in Tara's artistic flair, painted-on ivy and climbing roses winding two dimensional tendrils around the post. Dean had teased her unmercifully about it, but when she had offered to paint over it, he'd laughed and staved off her brush with both it was the only thing left.

Dean sat and stared at his house. What remained of it. Black beams thrust rude fingers at the empty sky, thin tendrils of smoke peeling off like the banners of the damned. _Charred _was an inappropriate adjective; the word implied that there was something besides ashes left.

He picked his way through the ruins. It was exactly like the hundred other wrecks he'd explored in his career. Except that it wasn't. He could walk this layout in his sleep. He knew where each piece of furniture was supposed to sit; he had a picture in his mind of how it was Before, one that clashed horribly with the After.

He stepped cautiously around ashy black piles. His booted feet felt uncomfortably warm, and Dean was reminded that the fire had gone out only a couple hours before; it might even still be smoldering in places. He borrowed a knife from the Imapla's trunk and used it to turn over a few objects.

A little digging revealed a box; smoky, scorched, but still mostly intact. The door was heat-warped, and Dean was able to pry it open with the knife point. Holding his breath, Dean reached inside.

They were okay. He breathed a sigh of relief. Tara had laughed when he'd bought the safe: non-flammable, guaranteed to 5000 degrees, and as indestructible as mortal means might make it. Now, handling the intact - if brittle - copies of their marriage license, the kids' birth certificates, mortgage, and other records, he was glad he'd insisted.

He tucked the papers into his pocket and then pried up the bottom of the safe; the real reason he'd bought this instead of a cheaper one. He picked up his gun, the warm metal comfortingly heavy and solid as he wrapped his hand around it. He shipped it at the back of his jeans, armed and in control once again. He hesitated another moment, then pulled out his hunting journal, the one Tara didn't know about, the one that he used to track omens and sightings and hauntings for his brother. He hesitated a long time, looking at nearby piles with smoke still rising out of the top, wondering if he shouldn't just toss it under some embers, but finally tucked it into his pocket.

Dean was just standing up when a brilliant light hit his back and a voice yelled, "Freeze!"

"Put your hands up and turn around. Slowly!" a second voice ordered.

Dean turned, squinting into the light. "Bill? That you?"

"Dan?" The light dropped from his face. "Craig, it's Daniel Wincester; put your piece up."

Dean made his way out, stopping in front of the pair from the police department. Dean could've cursed himself. His senses were shot, if he couldn't hear Bert and Ernie sneaking up on him. "Hey."

"Sorry if we scared you, Daniel," Bill said. "We didn't know it was you. Thought it might've been looters."

Dean's mouth twisted. "Not much to loot, unless you're seriously into ash." Which reminded him, he and Sammy would have to bottle some of it before they left; ashes from a destroyed home had powerful magical properties. Sam would be set for a lifetime's worth of spells from this.

"What're you doing out here at this time of night, anyway?" the younger of the pair - Craig - asked.

Dean pulled himself back. "The twins're getting hungry. I was coming out to look for an all-night convenience store and I just thought I'd stop by, see what was left."

"I sure am sorry, Dan," Bill said, laying a sympathetic hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I wish there was something I could do that would help."

"It's okay, Bill," Dean forced himself to say. "It was a freak accident, there's nothing anybody could do. Best thing for it is to move on and take care of what needs taking care of."

Bill looked at him askance. "You're sure handling this well."

Dean barked off a short, abrupt laugh. "'Well'? Hell, I'm still in shock. I haven't even _started _to handle it yet. But I've got three very good reasons why I can't just go off and lose it. I'm not letting those kids down."

Silence stretched between them, with no one quite knowing what to say.

Finally, he said, "Well, I'll let you go. I've got two hungry kids to feed, and I'm sure you've both got better things to do than sit around chattin' with me."

Craig nodded. "The search party for Tara leaves at first light. If she got out, we'll find her, Dan, don't worry."

Dean exhaled in a half sigh, half snort. "She didn't have time. I've seen this type of house fire before; they're killers. The kids and I were lucky to escape alive."

He waved his goodbye's back over his shoulder as he stomped to the Impala, shaking the ashes off his shoes. Some morbid part of him wondered if some of the clinging blackness might have been Tara's corpse, and he shook his head to clear the image.

The two cops watched him go. "Odd," Craig mused.

"Leave off," Bill told him. "The man just lost his home, his wife. We all cope differently."

"Still..." There was a very odd look on Craig's face as the pair got in the police cruiser.

"Cool car, though," Bill commented. "Genuine classic, unless I miss my guess."

"Yeah," Craig replied. "I wonder where he got it?"

~~~~~*****~~~~~

It took a little driving, but Dean finally found a grocery store that was open. He bought formula, went back in for bottles, then went back again for diapers. It was nearly two hours after he left that he got back, and both babies were fussing by the time he'd gotten the formula mixed and bottled up.

"Hey, Johnny," he said, picking up his youngest son and deftly inserting the nipple into his mouth. The baby immediately clamped his mouth shut started to suck. "Here, Sam, catch." He tossed his brother the second bottle.

Sam circled the crying baby warily, looking from the little girl to his big hands. "Um....Dean?"

Dean looked up from feeding John. "Sam, come on, she's hungry. You gotta pick her up to feed her." Sam gave him a hunted rabbit look. A slow smile crossed Dean's face. "You gotta be kidding me, right? Sam, the great touchy-feely ethicist with a heart of gold doesn't know how to handle a kid?"

"Hey, gimme a break, alright? I've just never had to pick one up before. Now will you shut up and tell me how to hold your daughter?"

Dean grinned, but relented. "Here, you take Johnny. Cradle him like this, yeah, and don't let his head drop. You gotta hold him closer than that, Sam, he's not contagious. Oh, and you know that soft spot on the back of their heads? Don't press on it. Good, you got 'im. Now just hold the bottle like this and let him suck until it's empty or he doesn't want any more. Good." He deftly swept Mary up and had her quiet and eating in seconds.

Sam watched his brother, a smile on his face.

"What?" Dean asked. When he noticed.

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

"Oh come on, Sam, that's the second 'nothing' that's a something I've caught on your face. So, What?"

"I just never pictured you for the domestic type, you know?"

"Who you callin' domestic?"

Sam laughed at his brother's angry expression. "Dean, you're feeding babies and getting on _me _for swearing. It's not an insult; it's a compliment. Four years ago, I'd never have pictured either of us sitting here with kids on our laps, much less your kids." He cocked his head to one side, considering his brother. "I don't know if I ever told you, but fatherhood suits you."

"Huh." Dean snorted, but his face softened as Mary's fist closed around his pinky.

The babies fell asleep, and Dean followed soon after, stretched out on the bed beside the crib. Sam drowsed in the chair his brother had vacated, senses awake and watchful.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Jamie woke up whimpering around four o'clock. Dean was there in an instant, cradling his oldest as the little boy shook. "What is it, Jamie? What's the matter?"

The four year old buried his face in Dean's chest, little hands wrapped in his shirt as tears poured out. "Fire," he cried. "Where's Mommy?"

Dean bit his lip and said, feeling like the biggest hypocrite ever, "Mommy's not here right now, Jamie. She had to go away for a little while."

He held his breath while the little boy considered this. His grip didn't slacken any, but he turned tear-filled eyes up to Dean's own. "Is the fire going to take me away, too?"

Dean hugged his son tight to him, heart breaking. "No, Jamie. The fire isn't taking you anywhere. I won't let them. I swear."

"But what if you can't? What if the fire comes and you're not here?"

"Here." Dean let go with one hand and pulled his amulet over his head. He draped the long sting around Jamie's neck and cinched up the knot so that it hung right over his son's chest. "There. That's Daddy's special necklace. It protected me for a long time, Jamie; now it'll protect you. You take care of it, you hear? And it'll take care of you, I promise."

It was a hollow promise, Dean knew, but Jamie nodded and wrapped his little hands around the charm. He was asleep in minutes.

"Isn't that what Dad told you?" Sam asked. Dean looked up sharply; he'd thought his brother was asleep. "About Mom," he clarified.

"Yeah, it is." Dean's reply was short, but Sam didn't take the hint.

"I thought you hated Dad for lying to you. I remember a big fight about it when we were teenagers."

Dean looked away. "Yeah? Well maybe I'm starting to understand what Dad went through." He swallowed hard. "Wish he was here, Sammy. Dad would know what to do."

Sam leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. "You know what he'd say, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean leaned against the wall himself. "Get that evil sonuva-witch."

"Right," Sam smiled, but Dean missed it, focused entirely on his kids. Sam felt a lonely pang. Things hadn't been the same between them since Dean had gotten married, and even now, even with Dean about to return to a life of Hunting, he wasn't the same brother he'd been five years ago. Dean had made a family for himself, and Sam had nothing but guns and memories.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Meanwhile, Craig was following up his own hunch. Something about Daniel Wincester bothered him, and he was turning the resources of the police department to investigating it.

"Hmm," he muttered to himself, scrolling through records. Daniel Wincester was pretty clean. One or two minor traffic violations, one DUI a few years ago, and implication in a couple barroom brawls around the same time, but for the most part, he looked like a model citizen. Employed at a local garage as a mechanic, married locally four years ago, three kids ages four-and-a-half and six months - interesting tidbit there, he wondered if the older kid was Daniel's or some other fella's, mortgage, two cars, wife worked as a nurse at the local hospital, churchgoers, softball league...your typical, all-American family man.

Except that there was no record of Daniel going back more than four years. The first legal proof of his existence was the marriage license. There was no birth certificate, no old driver's license, no previous address, no tax forms, nothing. Daniel Wincester, as far as the government of the United States of America was concerned, had no history and frankly, didn't exist.

Craig sifted through the records once again, eyes crossing as he tried to find the one hidden thread in the Life of Dan. His eyes lit on a picture on his partner's desk of Daniel grinning at the camera while Bill, next to him, hoisted high the league trophy. "Hm."

Well, it was worth a shot. Craig scanned the Polaroid and enhanced Wincester's face, then sent the modified photograph to a friend who worked with the national database.

_Would like any info you've got on this guy,_ he said in the clipped note that went along with.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

To be continued.....

(all reviews greatly appreciated!)


	2. Chapter 2

The following is set after the third season, in which Dean did not, in fact, perish at the fangs of the hellhounds, but was rescued by his brother, barely in time to save his life. Shortly thereafter, he rediscovered Tara, a woman with whom he had shared a few short weeks, and the child that she had borne nine months after that. With a son to look after, and still feeling Hell breathing down his neck, he retired from Hunting, leaving Sam to carry on without him.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural. I do not own either Dean or Sam, though if either of them wants to stop by sometime, I have pie. :D

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Next morning, Dean came awake all at once. He scanned his family, reassured himself that they were alright, and relaxed. His eyes slipped over to his brother. At first he thought Sam was asleep, but then their eyes met and Dean knew that he hadn't slept a wink.

Dean sat up and shook his head to clear it. "Everything alright?" he asked, and Sam nodded.

"Fine. Nothing happened all night. You slept alright?"

Dean cocked his head to one side, considering. "I guess. The kids...?"

"They're fine. Slept like rocks."

"Good."

Silence stretched between them, only to be broken by Jamie sitting up, rubbing his eyes, and crying, "Uncle Sam!"

He clambered out of the crib and threw himself at his uncle. Sam caught him in midair, grinning down at the little boy as he spun him around. "Hey, Jamesie!" Jamie giggled and hugged Sam tighter. At some point it became a wrestling match, Jamie trying desperately to tug his uncle to the floor. Sam finally gave up and collapsed, Jamie on top of him, and the little boy pounced, twisting Sam's arm up behind his back. "Give up, Uncle Sam? Give up?"

Sam laughed. "I give, I give!"

Jamie beamed at his dad and got off Sam's back. Dean grinned right back.

Mrs. Ackles' chose that moment to stick her head around the door frame. "Daniel, I've got - who's this?"

Sam pushed himself up off the floor and stuck out a hand. "I'm Thomas Samuels, ma'am. Dan's cousin. I pulled in late last night; Dan let me in. I hope you don't mind." He smiled at her with typical Sam charm, and she melted.

"Well, it's good to meet you, Mr. Samuels."

"Call me Sam."

She swept Jamie up and hugged him. "Daniel, I was just coming to tell you I had breakfast ready. I'll go set another plate." The rotund little woman hurried off down the hall, asking Jamie what he wanted to eat, leaving the brothers to follow with the babies.

"I wish we didn't have to lie to her," Dean muttered, picking John up. He sniffed the little boy's diaper, made a face, then reached for the shopping bag with the diapers.

Sam's head came up, startled. "Geez, Dean, you really have gone domestic."

Dean ignored him, busy cleaning John up.

"Dean? You remember what you used to do for a living? Was it journalist? Cop? Detective? Homeland security, Dean, remember that one? What's the sudden aversion to lying?"

Dean muttered something.

"What? I couldn't hear you."

He looked up from the baby. "I said, I'm tired of it, Sam. I like these people, I trust them. I don't wanna have to lie."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, what, you wanna tell them the truth? _If _they believed you, and that's a pretty big 'if,' they'd be scared out of their skulls to know that monsters are real. If not, you're headed to a big rubber room, and there ain't no key on the inside, Dean! That's _if _they don't decide to arrest you. They think you're dead, otherwise you'd still have about a dozen outstanding warrants from all over the country."

"Keep your voice down!" Dean cautioned. He fastened John's diaper and then picked up Mary and proceeded to change her.

Sam's lips thinned, but he gathered up Johnny and headed for the kitchen.

Dean slowly cleaned his daughter, concerned hands checking her for any lasting damage, though he knew it was futile. Sam had lived for twenty-two years before showing any effects from his early brush with the demon. If their dad had seen any changes, he hadn't written about them, at least not in his journal. Mary seemed just the same as always, and even Dean's wildly out-of-control imagination couldn't see any demon markings on her.

She was dressed again in her sleeping jumper, which still smelled of smoke, and Dean had her in his arms, carrying her into the kitchen. Just as they were passing by the front door, the doorbell rang. Dean shifted his daughter to one arm and opened it.

"Sera! Mike! What're you two doing here?"

The couple on the porch was pleasant-looking, with young, open faces. The woman had a casserole clutched in hot pad-covered hands and a diaper bag over one shoulder; the man had a full car seat in one hand and two empty ones dangling from the other.

"Daniel! I'm so sorry about Tara!" Sera stepped in and deposited the casserole and bag on a side table, then swept Dean into a big hug, being careful about the baby.

"We came just as soon as we heard," said Mike, setting the three car seats down and taking his turn to embrace his friend.

"How are you holding up?" Sera asked, holding Dean at arm's length and studying his face.

Dean tried on a smile. From the feel of it, it was more of a grimace, and from the look on his friends' faces, not a very reassuring one.

"Oh, Daniel…" Sera hugged him again, and somehow ended up taking Mary away in her arms. "It's going to be okay, Daniel, it really, truly is. I know it doesn't seem that way now, but eventually everything will sort itself out, I promise you."

Dean didn't know what to say, and Mike gently sent his wife off. "I'll bet Mary's hungry. Why don't you take her and Emma to the kitchen? I'm sure Joyce needs some help, with three little ones."

Sera swept the full car seat up and took both infants with her, leaving the men in the foyer. From the kitchen a woman's voice trilled, "Sera Gamble! Welcome!"

Mike nudged the two remaining seats with his foot and gave an embarrassed cough. "We, ah, we thought you could use a couple of our old car seats. You know, just until you get back on your feet again."

Dean blinked at the still-crisp fabric and spotless plastic of the seats, one of which still had the price tag attached. "Old seats, huh?"

"Yup," Mike nodded and added in a forcedly-casual voice, "Old seats. Hand-me-downs."

"Good. Cuz you know, I couldn't take brand new ones. Emma needs 'em more than I do; that little girl's growin' like a weed."

Mike nodded again. "Yup, I know it. I told Sera, he won't take new, old ones are better. We've also got some clothes and such," he waved at the bag. Dean could see the corner of a shirt big enough for a four year old boy sticking out of the open zipper. "Growin' kids, you know, they run through outfits in minutes."

"Yup."

Neither man looked at the other, sharing uncomfortable silence, until it was broken by Mike, in a much more natural tone. "Daniel, why don't you come stay with us for a few weeks? It'll give you a chance to find your feet again without having to worry about anything. Sera and I are used to kids, three more won't be a problem."

Dean shifted on his feet. "I don't know, Mike…"

"Dan." Dean looked up. "Are we best friends or not? Look, I know you'd do the same for us if our positions were reversed. So let us help you, huh?"

When Dean still hesitated, Mike pulled a folded envelope out of the diaper bag. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Sera thought you might like to have this."

Dean opened it. Inside was a photograph. A family portrait, taken last month. He had one hand on Tara's shoulder, the other cradling John. Mary was in Tara's arms and Jamie stood beside his mother, beaming at the camera. Dean was smiling, looking down at his family. They'd taken several others, but Tara had chosen to send out this one. "It's so sweet," she'd said. "You can't stand to take your eyes off us for one second."

Dean swallowed hard, eyes burning.

"Dan!" Sam's voice broke his reverie. "Think you could take a look at the Impala? She's been making a weird sound when I start her up; thought you might know what's causing it."

Dean gratefully tucked the photograph into his pocket and preceded his brother outside. Sam closed the front door before Mike could follow. By the time Sam had the car started, Dean had his emotions back under control.

Sam looked sideways at him. "You're going to have to let it out sometime, Dean."

"Yeah? Well now is not that time."

His brother's mouth twisted. "You know you don't deal with loss all that well."

"I deal."

Sam didn't rise to the bait, sitting in silence next to his brother in the front seat, waiting.

And not in vain. Staring straight out the front window, Dean started. "I just feel like I'm a dream, you know? Like if I could just wake up, or go back to sleep, or whatever, things would be back to normal."

Sam laughed bitterly. "What's normal, Dean?"

Dean had to snort a bit at that. "You're right. Normal ain't for us. I had fate fooled for four years. I guess she wants her due."

Sam met his brother's eyes. "We'll get your 'normal' back, Dean, if only for the kids, I swear to you."

"Hey, don't go swearing what you can't deliver, Sammy."

"Mm."

The silence stretched between them, interrupted by the crackle of the police scanner. "…Dean Winchester, a.k.a. _Daniel Wincester_, last known whereabouts 1509 Durand Court. Consider armed and dangerous. Repeat, an arrest warrant has been issued for Dean Winchester…"

The brothers looked at each other in alarm. Dean's hand flew to the handle, but Sam stopped him.

"Dean, we have to get outta here!"

Grim faced, Dean shot back, "Not without my kids, I don't!"

Sirens reached their ears. "We don't leave now, you get arrested and you leave your kids anyway, with less chance of getting them back than if we run. Now come on, let's go!"

Dean shot an anguished look back at the Ackles' house as Sam threw the Impala into drive and they tore away up the street.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Dean ducked out of sight for the first few miles, but once safely out of town, he turned on Sam. "Damn it, Sam, why'd we have to leave?"

Sam turned on his brother. "Why's your real name being bandied about on a police scanner? We couldn't stay, Dean, and you know it. We'll just hang out for a few days, let them think we've left, then sneak in, pick up your kids, and blow the joint."

Dean huffed in indecision, gaze wavering all over the place before settling on the rearview mirror. "A few days? You're sayin' that a lot, Sam, and every 'few days' gets longer. I can't go a few days without my kids. They need me, Sammy. I'm not letting them get taken to some goddamn foster home. Jamie'll remember it, even if the babies won't..." His voice trailed off in horror.

"What?" When Dean didn't reply, Same repeated, "Dean? What?"

"Six months. Sam, turn around. Turn around! We gotta get my kids _now!_" He made a grab for the steering wheel and Sam had to hit the brakes fast to stop them from crashing.

"Dean, are you nuts?! What's your problem? What about six months?"

"Six months, Sam, that's what's the problem! Every psy kid last time was infected on their six-month birthday, right? _Right?_"

Sam was perplexed. "Well, the ones we know about, yeah. Dean, what's your point? The twins' was yesterday night. It's over."

"Remember Andy and Webber?"

"The psychic twins? Yeah, so?"

"So they were twins. Both of 'em were infected. _Both_."

"So maybe this time 'round he only chose one."

"Yeah, or maybe he has to wait for tonight to infect Johnny."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Twins, Dean. Born on the same day?"

"Twins, Sam. Gestated at the same time? Johnny was born six hours after Mary. Mary was born at eleven PM on April twenty-first. John was born at five AM on April twenty-second."

Light dawned in Sam's eyes. "And tonight is October twenty-second."

"Six months for John. The demon's coming for him tonight."

"Dean, you sure about this? I mean, there's no omens, no proof."

"There wasn't anything before Mary's, either. You think I'd've missed anything demonic in my own backyard? Literally?" He stared at Sam, urgency radiating from his eyes. His brother sighed, tossed the car in gear, and turned around. "Fine. Well, we've got a few hours. We'll get a motel, I'll snoop around, find the kids - only four people know what I look like, so that shouldn't be a problem."

"Unless your name gets paired with mine. And why are you the one who gets to look for my kids? They're mine, aren't they?"

"And they'll be using your kids as bait to catch you, Dean, be smart about this. I know you don't like this, but you're going to have to live with it."

Dean grumbled, but settled back in his seat. "Alright. Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Good." They drove in silence for a minute before Sam turned to look at Dean. "You're not planning anything stupid, are you?"

"What? No! 'Course not."

"Uh huh. Your word, Dean."

"My word on what?"

"That you won't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like whatever it is that's got you giving in so easy, Dean!"

Dean looked hurt. "We're brothers, Sam, how could you even think that?"

Sam wasn't fooled. "We're brothers, Dean, how could I not?"

"Fine." Dean caved with bad grace. "My word, then. I'll stay wherever you put me and play tiddliwinks 'til you get back."

"'Tiddliwinks?' You feelin' okay, Dean?" He sought his brother's gaze in the rearview mirror.

But Dean was looking out the window, refusing to make eye contact. "Somethin' Tara always said."

They pulled into the motel just long enough for Sam to rent a room and Dean to sneak inside, and then Sam was off in the Impala.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Dean tried, he really did. But TV couldn't hold his interest, the radio didn't pick up anything but pop - "Hannah who?" - and there was only so much cleaning and sharpening that could be done before the job became counterproductive and he polished his weapons away. At last, with a grunt of frustration, he went for a walk.

He kept his path local, avoiding streets where people would know him and places where cameras were likely to be. By degrees, though, he found himself at the church.

He stepped into the sanctuary and sat down on one of the pews near the back, stood up and edged closer to the middle, then gave up and came all the way to the front. He looked up at the crucifix, then away, then back again, and away.

A hand on his shoulder made him start. "Oh, Father Tom, it's you," he said in relief, recognizing the man who stood there, a kindly smile on his old face.

"If there's anything I know how to recognize, it's anxiety. Walk with me, my son." He led Dean out to the little cemetery attached to the refectory and the two wandered amongst the tombstones.

"What's on your mind, my son?"

"I - a lot of things, Father. I wouldn't even know where to begin, even if you'd believe me." Dean couldn't meet the old priest's eyes.

"I have a great capacity for belief, my son. Try it from the beginning, and we'll work up from there."

They stopped and sat on a stone bench. Dean huffed out a deep breath and looked sideways at his companion. "What do you believe in, Father?"

If the question startled the old man, he didn't show it. "I believe in God our Father, in Christ His Son, the Holy Spirit, and all His angels. But that isn't what you meant, is it?"

Dean shook his head. "No. What I mean is, God is good. Do you believe in - in a countering evil? Demons, devils, evil spirits that walk the earth, that sort of thing."

The priest considered this seriously. "Well, I believe in _the_ Devil, certainly. I suppose I never gave much thought to the rest."

Dean watched his companion out of the corner of his eye. "What would you do if I told you those things are real? Demons, witches, ghosts, things out of your worst nightmares and more, the whole lot of 'em?"

The priest was quiet for a moment. "This has something to do with why you're so worried? I have to admit, I was expecting something a bit more...temporal...in nature…Dean." Dean recoiled, and he placed a hand on his young parishioner's shoulder. "Be easy, my son. Daniel or Dean, you are in my church. Secular authority may not recognize the laws of Sanctuary, but I have not yet cast aside the old traditions. So long as you are on church grounds, I will not report you."

Dean...failed to relax.

The old priest sighed. "Daniel - Dean - I know what the police say. That you're wanted for murder, robbery, assault, grave desecration of all things, escaping from custody, and a host of other offences in more than a dozen different states, as well as faking your own death. Twice. Somehow, I'm having a hard time reconciling the man I've learned to love and respect with the young man they say you are. Help an old man out, will you?"

The younger man shook his head slowly, considering, weighing his next words. "It's true, Father," he said finally. "Everything they say I did, I did. Well, no, a couple of the murders were someone else's work, but all in all, I'm the man they want. I'm a killer, thief, crook, fugitive, you name it."

If he was hoping for a reaction from the old man, he was to be disappointed. The father put his head to one side and said, "Yes, I heard all that from others. What do _you _have to say about it?"

Dean blinked. Then a half-smile twitched his mouth. "You're a man of surprises, Father. Are you sure you want to hear this? It's pretty shocking."

A wry eyebrow cocked itself at Dean. "What could be more shocking than finding out you're a fugitive from the law?"

"The 'why' would give you a pretty good run for your money…" He sighed. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?" A shake of the other man's head, and Dean quit stalling. "The beginning, huh? Ho-kay, uh... when I was four, a demon killed my mother and set my house on fire. Dad barely got my little brother Sam and me out, then he dedicated his entire life to hunting the thing that killed her, and in the meantime killing every evil bastard he came across - werewolves, ghosts, angry spirits, poltergeists, demons, that sort of thing. I got into it pretty early, so did Sam. We learned literally at our father's knee how to make bullets, shoot to kill, exorcise, you get the picture. The stuff I'm wanted for? All done in the name of duty. People don't understand it when you're digging up relative's bones and burning them - it's the only way to put a ghost to rest," he answered the priest's inquiring glance.

"Anyway, four years ago – wait, you know Jamie wasn't exactly legitimate when he was born, right?" The priest nodded, expression neutral. "Anyway, _five _years ago, Tara and I had a night together. Four years ago, some sh- uh, stuff happened that really put the fear of God into me, or, well, the fear of hellfire. I had a brush with death that was a lot narrower than what I was used to." He rubbed his hand across his chest, the memory still vivid. "Anyway, 'bout that time I ran into Tara again and found out that I had a son. You have to understand, Sammy and I had one really messed up childhood. It's one reason I never got serious about any girl I ever met – I never intended to have a family, not doing what I did. So here's Tara, a woman I really cared for, and little James, there in her arms whether I wanted him or not. And what with having literally stared into the flames of Hell, I figured I'd put in my due. I'd saved enough people, killed enough evil, risked enough, lost enough; I was owed a break. I gave my little brother my car, put up my weapons, changed my name, and gave Tara a ring. Researched a house and land and got a mortgage. Learned how to live in one spot for longer than a few weeks at a time. Got a job. Got religion. You remember how skeptical I was at first, Father."

Father Tom nodded. "I imagine that it was difficult to believe in anything good after having seen so much evil."

Dean nodded. "Darn straight. When you baptized me, I felt…new, somehow. I was Dean Winchester the Hunter for my entire life, and then suddenly I was Daniel Wincester, Husband, Father, Civilian. I wanted to put Dean behind me. Thought I'd succeeded, too."

He fell into brooding silence that threatened to stretch forever. Father Tom gently coaxed him, "So what changed?"

Dean sighed. "The demon came back, the one that killed Mom, or something like him. Has to be something different," he muttered, half to himself, "Sam and I killed Azazel six years ago. He couldn't come back, not from that." He swallowed hard. "Then last night, Tara died the same way Mom did. Pinned to the ceiling over Mary's crib, demon fire ripping through the place."

Father Tom laid a hand on Dean's. "And you think this means you have to go back to your old life?"

"There's more to it, Father." Dean struggled with himself for a moment before speaking. "See, the demon - chooses kids. Lets 'em grow up with their families and then whisks 'em off to be pawns in some evil game. The last time a batch of kids was taken, all Hell broke loose, and I'm not speaking figuratively here. I'm not going to let it happen again, not if I can help it; I'm going to hunt that bastard down and send it straight to oblivion. I'm not letting it take my daughter, and I'm sure as _hell _not going to risk my son."

"Are we talking about Jamie or Johnny?"

"Johnny. See, the demon selects kids on their six month birthday. Mary's was yesterday, Johnny's is today."

The Father glanced at his watch. "Leaving you about eight hours to get him safe. May I offer you the services of my church for a sanctuary? At least until the danger to the babe has passed."

"I appreciate that, Father, and I might just take you up on it. It all depends on how soon Sam can find my kids."

"'Find'?" Tom echoed.

"When we heard that the cops were looking for me, Sam and I were in the car and the kids were inside. I had to leave 'em, or get arrested. Lucky thing Sam was drivin' or I'd be in jail right now."

"So, you have no idea where your children are?"

"None." Something in the priest's tone made Dean look at him. "Father, do you know something I don't?"

The priest sighed. "I don't know why I believe you, but I do. Your children are with Sera and Mike. They insisted, and Bill agreed that familiar faces were best for the kids right now."

"That's great!" Dean leaped to his feet and took three steps towards the rectory exit before stopping and turning, running his hands through his hair anxiously. "Thanks, Father. I really, really appreciate this."

"Just make sure those children always have their father. God bless you, my son!" Father Tom called after Dean as he sped for the motel at top speed, already whipping out his cell phone to call Sam.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Sam picked up on the first ring. "Hey."

"Sam? My kids are over at S-"

"-era and Mike's, yeah, I know, I'm looking at it right now." Sam peered through the hedge. "I'm scoping the place on foot."

"Well, why don't you go in there and get 'em?" Dean demanded.

Movement caught his eye and Sam watched as two cops made another slow circuit around the block. An unusual number of neighbors were out raking leaves and digging in flower beds, only not much raking or weeding was getting done with all the furtive looks around. "I think it's going to be a _little _more difficult than a smash-and-grab, Dean."

"Sam, we've got less than three hours till dark. That's when the demon strikes and we've gotta have them out of there by then."

Sam ducked behind a hedge as he replied, "Just John."

"_What?!_"

"We only need to have Johnny out, Dean. We can come back for the other two later, if it comes down to it."

"Son of a _bitch! _You can't be serious, Sam! These are my _kids _we're talkin' about! I'm not leaving even _one _of 'em behind! Besides, you know how it goes; we grab John and then they move Mary and Jamie, and _then _who knows when I get them back, huh? Think, Sam!"

Silence from the other end, then, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Dean, I wasn't thinking."

Dean leaned against a telephone pole, running his hand over his face. "Darn right you weren't thinking. Don't go scarin' me like that, Sam, I'm already twitchy as a cat." A passing car horn blared and Dean jumped about a mile.

"What was that?"

Dean flinched guiltily. "What was what?"

Sam glared at the bushes in lieu of his brother. "Dean, are you outside?"

"I might be..."

"Dean, you promised you'd stay put!"

"I tried, Sam, I really did! But you know how I get. Man, I was goin' stir crazy in there!"

"Well get back to the motel now before someone sees you! I'll meet you back there; we have plans to make."

Dean turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. "Holy shit!" He ducked back behind a fence just in time to avoid a searching glance from the Sherriff's men, who were parked outside the motel door.

"What is it? Dean?"

"Uh, Sam? Scratch the motel. Meet me at the quarry - take Viola Road as far as you can go and hang a left."

"The quarry? What's there?"

"Safety. Call me when you get there. And Sam? Hurry."

~~~~~*****~~~~~

A few minutes later, the Impala bounced up a rutted road and pulled to a stop just inside a man-made canyon. Gravel littered the floor and huge piles of loose stone too small to be of any value slumped up against the limestone walls. Sam stepped out, flipped open his cell phone, and started dialing, only to realize that there were no bars. "Crap," he muttered.

A hand on his arm made him jump. "What th- Dean! Holy shit, man, you scared me!"

Dean pressed a flashlight into Sam's hand. "Follow me," he said, and led him back towards the quarry entrance.

"In here." He pulled aside some bushes and ducked under a shallow outcropping of stone, into a cave that was large enough to stand up in. Sam shined his flashlight over the walls, noting a dark tunnel just off to one side. Demon traps were painted on the floor and ceiling, salt lines were everywhere, with more bags of rock salt sitting in the corner. He recognized protective runes carved into the walls and gave a low whistle. "Geez. Paranoid much?"

Dean's mouth twitched. "You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you."

"Conspiracy Theory, Dean?"

"Huh?"

"You know, Mel Gibson, Julia Roberts? Never mind."

Dean took a seat on the floor and ran a hand over his haggard face. "So what's the plan, Sammy?"

"You don't have one?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Get in there, get my kids, run like hell. I'm kinda depending on you for the details."

"It's not going to be easy. You picked a good town, Dean."

"How so?"

Sam's mouth twitched. "You've got a neighborhood watch that actually watches. The whole town is out to save your kids from you. They're not carrying badges, but I'm willing to bet that most of those folks would be more than happy to make a couple of citizens arrests."

Dean groaned. "Oh great. Got any other good news for me?"

"The kids are on the second story, and their window doesn't have any convenient roofs or branches outside it. There's an alarm, and it looked like a couple cops were planning to stay the night on the couch."

Dean glared at Sam. "I was bein' facetious."

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean. "I wasn't. And since when do you know what 'facetious' means, anyway?"

His brother ignored that. "So what's our plan of attack, Sammy?"

~~~~~*****~~~~~

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Dean growled, tugging at his blouse as they left the gas station. The attendant raised his eyebrows, blinked, then went determinedly back to his newspaper. Dean glared.

Sam laid his hand on his brother's arm. "Dude, chill. We've gotta make this look realistic."

"Realistic??" Dean's low voice was strained as he adjusted his skirt. "Tell me this, Sam; why do I gotta be the girl?"

Sam slapped Dean's hand. "Quit that. It's because they know you as a macho man who wouldn't be caught dead in drag, because they're looking for a man or two men and won't give a couple a second thought, and because you're the only one who could fit into the dress."

Dean brushed furiously at a curl of the blonde wig that persisted in dropping over his eyes. "You picked it out deliberately, didn't you?"

"You really think I'd do a thing like that?" Sam asked, looking hurt.

Dean glared.

Sam smirked.

"When this is over, you're dead."

"You really want Jamie to see you kill his favorite uncle?"

"Favorite, my ass – foot. You're his only uncle." But Dean finally quit messing with his wardrobe and started towards the car.

Sam caught up. "Slow down. Relax a bit. Let your hips swing, and take shorter steps."

"These shoes hurt my feet," Dean grumbled.

"Hey, just be glad they didn't have any high heels in your size." Sam looked sideways at his brother and grinned. "Though I'd've paid money to see you pull this job off in pumps."

"If you'd tried it, I wouldn't have waited til this is over to kill you."

"Seriously, shorten your stride. And take my arm."

"What?!" Dean stopped short and glared at his brother. "No way in _hell _I'm doin' that!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _you _wouldn't, which makes it perfect. Now take my arm, and let's try and act like a normal couple out for an evening stroll, alright?"

"'Evening stroll?'" Dean echoed, but he – reluctantly – tucked his hand in the crook of Sam's elbow.

"And relax. Okay?"

Dean glared. "You are so dead after this."

They walked in silence for a few moments. Then Sam said, "I wish I had a camera," at the same time that Dean said, "Thank God you don't have a camera."

The brothers looked at each other, smiled, and got in the Impala. Sam fired her up, flipped on the headlights, and then they were off down the road.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Bill and Craig were stationed inside the Gamble's house. They were making a slow circuit of the lower floor when two strangers approached the front door.

"A woman and a man. Think it's him?"

The streetlight glinted off Sam's profile and Bill shook his head. "No, that's not Daniel."

"Still, let's be careful." Craig motioned Bill to get behind the divider, where he had some cover but retained a good view of the front door. Then the younger cop, his piece out but kept out of sight behind the door, opened it.

"Hello!" Sam stuck out his hand. "I'm Richie Kotzen; this is my wife, Kim."

"…hello." Craig said, peering at the shortish figure with the crazy hair and big hands that stood beside and just behind 'Richie.'

The stranger continued. "We were just driving past and we noticed you have a lovely example of Thomas Kinkaid's work in your living room. I'm a huge admirer of his work; I was wondering if I might have a closer look?"

Craig blinked. "What?"

That was when Dean hit the door hard, knocking the gun out of Craig's hand, skirts swirling as he lashed out and caught him a solid right to the jaw. Sam was inside a second later, bulling Bill to the floor as he came flying around the corner, hitting the cop's head against the wall with a solid thump and knocking him unconscious.

Craig spun back around, and his eyes went wide when he got a close look at Dean.

"You?!" he gasped, just before Sam knocked him out from behind.

They stopped and listened. "Nothing," Sam breathed. "Good." They were just headed up the stairs when a terrified scream ripped though the silence of the house.

"Jamie!"

Dean took off so fast he left his shoes on the stairs. He skidded into the kids' temporary bedroom, wig skewed over one eye. "Jamie!"

The little boy was standing between the window and the crib, facing down a towering figure in black. "No!" he shouted. "Get away!"

The thing stretched out a limb towards the babies and Jamie leapt up, grabbing hold of it with his entire scant weight. "No!"

"Jamie!" Dean grabbed his son, lashing out with his foot. The creature spun into the wall, but came back instantly, intent on the crib.

"No!" Dean dropped Jamie on the bed and grabbed the thing in his hands.

He screamed, his hands burning, but he refused to let go, grappling the creature back.

"Dean, duck!" Sam yelled from the doorway and pulled the trigger. Rock salt sprayed through the air, peppering the creature…wounding it, but not destroying it.

"The knife, Sam, the knife!"

Sam drew the demon-killing blade, but the thing retreated, perching on the windowsill just long enough for the men to see a flash of red eyes, before the creature dissolved into a cloud of flies that buzzed off into the night.

_Thunk!_

"Hey!" Sam wrenched a baseball bat out of Mike's grip and used it to fend off the next attack.

"Dean, get the kids, we're outta here!"

Dean grabbed Mary, reached for John and realized that Jamie already had him, then picked up both his sons and ran for the stairs, Sam right behind him.

They hit the Impala at top speed, Dean and the kids piling into the back as Sam peeled off with a squeal.

Dean laid the crying babies on the seat and pulled Jamie close. "Here, let me see," he said, gripping the boy's hands. "Where does it hurt? Did it burn you?"

Dean's hands were red and blistered, but the small arms in his were intact, little-boy flesh unmarked.

He caught Jamie's eye. "Jamie? You grabbed it, right?" The little boy nodded. "It didn't hurt you?"

Jamie touched the charm Dean had given him. "My necklace got hot. It saved me, like you promised, Daddy." He wrapped his arms around Dean's neck in a big hug.

"That's right, Jamie. You saved your brother; good for you."

Sam was watching in the rearview mirror. "I'll get us somewhere safe, Dean," he promised.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

The dawn was just peeking above the trees when they pulled into a snug little cabin by a lake. Sam fumbled with the key ring before finally picking the right one and unlocked the door.

Jamie was asleep on Dean's shoulder as he carried the boy in, the twins in car seats clutched in Sam's hands. They laid the kids on a bare mattress; Dean draped his coat around his oldest; he'd changed back into jeans and a T-shirt in the car. Sam poured salt in thick lines in front of the windows and doors.

"Here, man, I'll do that," Dean tried to co-opt the job, but Sam shook his head.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"Still hyped from the drive?"

"You know how it is; you get into a groove and you just gotta keep moving."

"You tired at all?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nope."

Silence.

"So."

"So."

"You got anything to drink?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "I might have some juice mix. Maybe a few old beers."

"Huh." They walked out onto the porch, looking out over the lake.

Sam leaned on the porch rail. "Look, man, I'm sorry about all this. This whole thing is just crap."

"You're tellin' me."

They stood in silence for a few more minutes. Then Dean sighed. "Look, Sam, I know you're waiting for the big chic-flick moment, but it's not gonna happen. Not yet, anyway. Tara hasn't even been dead for thirty-six hours yet. I'm not gonna get the chance to bury her. I've got nothing left from my old life but three kids and a photograph. That's even less than what Dad had.

"I know I'm lousy at coping. But I can't crash now, Sam, I can't. There's too much riding on me, too many people depending on me to be there, to be strong, to have all the answers."

"I'm not." It was a simple declaration. "Look, Dean. You're safe now. I'm here, and I can take care of things for awhile. You go ahead and do whatever it is you need to do to deal. Then we can move on. But I built this cabin so I had somewhere to go to lick my wounds, to rest, recuperate. We'll stay here for as long as it takes."

Dean's eyes had a hint of a sheen to them. "Thanks, Sammy." His voice was husky.

Sam pushed off from the rail and went inside to take inventory, leaving Dean behind to stare out at the lake and just…deal.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

A feminine hand reached out and clicked a piece onto the elaborate game board. "And my piece is back in play."

Her opponent slowly applauded. "Masterfully done. I'm impressed – I'd thought my trap would last longer."

"You just have to know your pieces." The woman smiled secretly to herself. "Your move, Beelzebub."

Her opponent reached forward and moved his own piece. "Let the games begin. Again."

_~Fin~_


End file.
